


A Deal and A Dare

by Rueitae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bets & Wagers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Innuendo, Kidnapping, Lance is not smooth at all, Nothing explicit, Teasing, Thirsty Pidge, and Pidge running with it, its mostly adorablely awkward, just Lance putting his foot in his mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueitae/pseuds/Rueitae
Summary: A sniper gets the better of Pidge while she's obtaining information on Lotor. The surprise is when she isn't dead and her captor needs something from her.





	A Deal and A Dare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Engineer104](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/gifts).



> I don't even remember what the prompt was for, just that it was a spy/assassin AU. I want to say enemies to friends to lovers? I lost the post and I need to find it again. (i hope you like it Reem)

The world falls away around her, the shipping crates she hides between feeling like an enclosure rather than a single wall between her and the guard station. The clicking of her fingers across the keyboard narrows her focus on the job. Information from the factory downloads into her laptop, a green bar filling in across the bottom of the screen, inching closer to the perfect copy. 

They’ll never know of her presence if she did it correctly. And Pidge  _ always _ has a perfect extraction.

It’s her biggest job ever, hired to gather as much intelligence on Lotor as possible - the most reclusive man on the planet. So she’s huddled in a corner of the facility he frequents, near the shipping dock and the closest computer to her exit. 

Her heart pounds through her ears, a smile stuck to her face - the rush of the job never gets old.

When the copy is complete, her hacker icon dances with fireworks on the screen. 

“Bingo,” she whispers. Pidge enters lines of her exit code, erasing any indication of her presence. 

She slams her laptop shut and stuffs it into her bag, draping the straps around her arms. The window above her is easy to climb to, and her escape is easy and undetected.

But her heart rate won’t go down until she’s safe in her air conditioned hotel room and the money for the job has been wired into her secure - and very private - bank account. 

The summer sun beats down on her bare neck and for the first time she actually regrets cutting her hair to do field work like this. With her luck she’ll probably have a sunburn by the time she gets indoors. She tugs down on her ski mask for what feels like the hundredth time, making sure her face and hair are hidden at least. 

_ Next paycheck, I’m getting a nice full body suit, _ she grumbles to herself.

Steam rises from standing water all over the docks, so Pidge pay no mind to the mosquito she slaps dead on the back of her neck. 

Then nothing.

~~~~~

Pidge groans as a foggy awareness tickles the front of her brain. She lies on a soft fabric, arms clutching a fluffy pillow under her head. It's serene, and for a few blissful moments it's as if she's back in her hotel room and catching up on sleep.

But... isn’t she on a job? Pidge doesn't remember transferring the data to Honerva yet, or even getting back to the hotel.

Fear strikes her heart. Honerva is not so forgiving of a late assignment. More importantly -  _ why doesn’t she remember walking back? _

She moves her eyes in a flurry, searching her surroundings. Familiar items come into focus as she comes out of her sleepy haze, her computer, a duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries, and a drying swimsuit from when she made use of the hotel’s pool.e

Her heart rate slows, but a feeling of wrongness hangs over her head.

She moves to sit up and investigate, but her legs and wrists refuse to separate. It trips her off balance and she yelps, the floor greeting her face with a loud thump.

Plasma cuffs hold her wrists and ankles together. The swirling magenta bands are stronger than iron and near indestructible. Pidge knows better than anyone, the technology is her father's.

A knot of dread twists in her stomach as she realizes - that had been no mosquito bite.

_ Tranquilizer _

"Mornin' sleeping beauty."

A male voice fills the silence, growing more clear by the syllable. He rounds the bed cautiously, a handgun lowered but ready. Pidge growls as the pieces of the puzzle come together. She's been kidnapped by a sniper with enough skill to have tracked her not only to her job, but with the intelligence to know her temporary hideout. 

She needs more information. Who is he and how did he find her? Why has he taken her?  _ Who does he work for? _

"You need something from me," she guesses, remaining still, sizing up his demeanor. Why else would a sniper leave her alive if not for her information?

He wears a tight navy shirt, covering - but also showing off, to Pidge’s frustration - his neck and  _ muscular _ arms. A utility belt is around his waist with equally snug pants, housing his holster and sheath for a knife. His face isn’t hidden, and wears an easy smile while his body looks as if it can react to any retaliation on her part on a moment’s notice.    


"Kind of," he says as he holsters the gun. He pulls the hotel key card out of his pocket, flashing it at her between two of her fingers as he lazily sits on the edge of the bed. "I figured you'd be more comfortable in your own space to talk,” He leans in closer and she scoots back, but not enough as he hooks a finger under her face mask and rips it off her head, “ _ Ms _ Gunderson. The nice lady at the front desk was able to tell me which room you were staying at."

"I'd be more comfortable without these restraints," she spits, testing the cuffs to relief some of her anger knowing full well they won't budge. "Let's get this over with and - hey, what are you doing?"

The sniper sets the key card on the bed and bends down, scooping her up like a sack of potatoes while she shrieks at him. "The name's Lance," he says as he drops her back onto the bed and sits himself at the end of it. "But," his mouth curls into a smirk, his teeth are so pearly white they practically shine, "you might know me better as Red, mercenary services for hire."

There are numerous ways she can respond to him. She can confirm that yes, she's heard of him and his decent work reputation - and more infamous flirtatious one - on the Network. She can make a jab at it. She can deny it, keeping the information to herself, stroking his ego to make him talk. But she chooses neither, her heart beating wildly, still ascertaining what  _ exactly _ this sniper wants with her. 

"Why do you wear blue then?"

Lance has the decency to gawk in indignation. “Blue happens to be better camouflage then red,” he says hastily, arms crossed as he defends himself. “And I  _ like _ the color blue.”

“But,” Pidge presses, thrilled to be in the captivity of a sniper with vanity. “You call yourself Red, why not just call yourself Blue?”

He flicks her a flashy grin, running a hand through his brown hair. “Because I’m red hot with my aim  _ and _ with the ladies.”

To Pidge’s consternation, heat rushes to her cheeks. His uniform  _ is _ a bit distracting and she has first hand experience with his sniper skills. From what she remembers of Lance’s Network profile and how he acts now, he’s not rash; it’s all too inviting to relax.

But he’s still an assassin, and letting her guard down is an easy way to either get herself killed, or blackmailed. 

“Well, I’m not into bondage,” she says casually. “So just tell me what you want from me.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide as saucers, sputtering, “I would  _ nev _ \- AGH!” He forgets that he leans on an arm with the other still in his hair. He falls off the bed and onto the floor.

Pidge raises an eyebrow. Such an awkward response from a self proclaimed - and documented - Casanova?

“Now we’re even,” she tells him with a huff.

Lance is to his feet quick, a testament to his profession, though his face is a red blushing mess. 

Pidge snorts with a smirk, leaning back on the headrest of the bed, bound hands limp on her lap. “You’re living up to your name, but you’re nothing like your flirtatious reputation.”

He’s taken aback in indignation. “This isn’t a  _ date _ ,” he tells her. It takes a blink of an eye for his body to stiffen and to cross his arms. The professionalism and intimidation is spot on… if not for his fumbling at her teasing.

“I know you have information on Lotor,” he begins. 

Pidge bites her inner lip, and hopes her face does not betray the renewed influx of worry in her gut. Her laptop is heavily encrypted, and there’s no way this…  _ Lance _ can bust it. Still, paranoia is strong and she has a job yet to complete. 

“And what if I do?” she counters vaguely.

Lance rolls his eyes. “You have a reputation,  _ Pidge _ , and I  _ saw _ you get the job done. Lotor doesn’t want to be found though, so I need you to hand it over to me.”

The pieces of the puzzle click into place. Lotor hired Lance to stop her from giving information on him to Honerva. Well, she can still throw him off.

“So,” she says with a knowing grin. “What kind of reputation do I have?”

He glares at her, not answering right away. “If I tell you, will you give me the information?”

Pidge shrugs noncommittally. Lance throws his head back with a groan of frustration. 

“The Network says you have a 99% success rate,” he begins. “That’s wild for a hacker.”

Her nose twitches, annoyed at being reminded of her less than perfect record, though far and away the best one of her peers. “Information Retrieval Specialist,” she corrects. “Hacking is just what I do to  _ get _ the information.”

“Whatever,” Lance dismisses. His brows furrow in annoyance. “You’re the best in the business and super reclusive.” He leans forward, scrutinizing her. “And you’re  _ pretty _ .”

Pidge nods to each of his points, until the last, when her own eyes threaten to jump out of their sockets. “That’s not in my profile!” she protests.

“It’s not,” Lance agrees, pointing a finger at her. He has the audacity to look pleased with himself at her reaction. “But you  _ are  _ pretty cute.”

Her face is so hot it might explode. The only people who compliment her like that are her own  _ family, _ not attractive men in form fitting clothing who have her hogtied on a hotel bed.

Oh quiznak, maybe she’d lied earlier. 

She can’t decide whether to call him out on it or get on with the information on Lotor, but Lance does it for her. His face glows red and his mouth gapes, stammering, “quiznak. No - I’m not lewd or anything. This is  _ strictly professional _ . I don’t usually do the kidnapping thing.”

Pidge frowns, concentrating on steadying her breathing. “Then why me? It’s not like I keep information in my head.”

Lance takes a deep and wanders over to the window. He inserts his fingers between the panels. Sunlight peeks through - sunset she guesses from the angle and orangish tint. Foreboding settles in her gut, she’s slept for far too long. 

He refuses to look at her, resting an arm on the wall. “My orders were to take you out,” he confesses solemnly. 

Pidge’s heart catches in her throat and she tenses. She’s not safe yet. 

“But honestly, I hate the guy,” he continues, curling his hand into a fist. “And I’m sick of doing his dirty work. He’s got a lot of friends of mine under his thumb.” He looks her in the eye, gaze steely. “So I want the information to take him out, and I’d like your help to do it.”

Pidge grits her teeth, face warm with anger rather than embarrassment. “No,” she says quickly. “You’re breaking your contract, and you expect me to break mine to help you? I’d like to keep my reputation in tact.”

“I can make it worth your while,” Lance says, stalking back towards her. “Answer carefully; I have you  _ exactly _ where I want you,” he threatens. 

Well, he wants to negotiate rather than kill her, so maybe she can still talk her way out of this. Emboldened, she holds up her cuffed hands and says “On a bed?”

“ _ No _ !” he squawks, backing up against the wall - as far away from her as possible. “You know that’s not what I mean!”

“Look, my client is someone I’d rather be on the good side of,” Pidge levels. “I have a career to think about. If you can’t offer me better than an apprenticeship and a high tech lab, then you’re out of luck.”

Lance grits his teeth and paces the short space between the bed and television. His eyes pin shut and brows knit together in inner conflict.

“Partnership. 60-40,” he declares. “I’ve got a warehouse full of tech that’s all yours. Not just sniper stuff, your kind of stuff.”

“My kind of stuff?” Why does a sniper need with encryption software and small tools to work on microchips and motherboards? Has she misjudged his intellect?

“I have a collection,” he clarifies, “a big sis in the Garrison, a mechanic friend, and a place large enough to hold it all,” he flashes her a grin as he leans over the foot of the bed. “You’d have your pick of equipment and I’ll take on your targets too.” He holds out a hand, close enough she could take it. “Just help me take down Lotor.”

Pidge chews on her gums, considering. A partnership is tempting, with Honerva she can only expect an apprenticeship for an undetermined amount of time, and probably limited access to equipment. To be in charge of her own lab so soon in her career is beyond her wildest dreams. 

And to have a sniper at her call - a reputable one at that - is a bonus. Doing a little digging for him is a small price to pay. 

She hums, keeping her relaxed demeanor though her heart bubbles with excitement on the inside.

“You’re not half bad,” she admits. There are precious few sniping spots at the docks so he must have made the shot from a very  _ very _ , long distance. And to be able to find her hotel at least meant he has some street sense. He might be just what she needs. 

She curls up her knees and rests her elbows on them, leaning forward, locking their gazes together. 

His blue eyes are hardened from enough missions, he’s less likely to bail out of a tough job - he will take the tough shot. He’s easy to tease - entertainment for her. 

“50-50 split,” she counters, pointing both index fingers at him. “And I live there.”

Lance curls the fingers of his outstretched hand. “I’d need some time to get ready. I only have one bed.”

Pidge grins. “You know, you’re a lot more flustered over this stuff than your reputation says,” she chides. “You sure my being there won’t deter any date nights?”

Lance stammers, retracting his outstretched hand in exaggeration, indignant. “I can bring a date  _ anywhere _ . Bringing Lotor down is more important.”

Pidge sighs dramatically. She’ll have this sniper wrapped around her finger. “Look, if you’re serious about this job, you can’t have any distractions, so probably better if you lay low on the fake dating scene.”

Lance bristles. “It’s not fake! I have a legitimate good time taking girls out to parties. We have relationships. It keeps eyes off me for more  _ underground _ reasons.”

Realization tickles in her brain. “Actually… it may not be a bad idea to gather information. Lotor hates witnesses, so the more of them there are, the safer we are.”

Lance smiles. “So that’s a yes?” he asks hopefully.

Wrapped around her finger and all to herself. “If you don’t mind flirting with me at the Union Gala next week.” She snickers internally. “You’re already most of the way there - though I usually prefer puns.”

Lance’s face glows bright red, but he steels his gaze quickly, it seems she’s used this jab one too many times. 

“I’ll do you one better,” he says evenly. “If I can successfully woo you, we split 60-40,” he points a thumb in his direction, “and I get the 60.” He sticks a foot onto the bed and leans in. “I’ll prove my reputation isn’t just talk.”

Pidge scoffs. Lance may look nice physically, and his goofy demeanor charming, but there is no way she’ll actually fall for him. “I doubt it. You’re no Casanova - you’re a  _ romantic _ .”

“Okay if we’re going to be working together, you tell  _ no one _ about this conversation,” he says with an accusatory finger pointing at her. “I’ve spent years building this up - I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Pidge grins. Maybe this will be fun. She’s never had a partner outside her family before, and Lance seems like an entertaining guy - more personable than most who have their profiles on the Network. 

 

She extends her hands, presenting him with what are technically his handcuffs. “You’ve got a deal, partner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Famous last words, Pidge. 
> 
> Five years later they'll totally consider this their first date.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/)


End file.
